


Coming from the Dark

by Forgotten_Logic



Series: Random Short Stories [8]
Category: Transformers
Genre: Angst, Fainting, Graphic Description, M/M, Mentioned self hatred, Mentioned self loathing, Ratchet isn't here... he's only mentioned in the first chapter., Ratchet's come to save the day!, Self Harm, dratchet - Freeform, vent writing... sorry, yes he has come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: Drift is in a dark place... Can he be saved from himself?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you can't read self harm, please turn back.
> 
> I needed to vent without hurting me. I hope that makes sense.

There he goes again, dragging a small blade across his protoform on his arms. Today, he just couldn't handle everything, the denial, the loathsome feelings he held for himself, everything. He hadn't tried to stop himself from crying, he didn't care anymore. He didn't want to feel anything. 

Getting kicked off the ship, yeah, that was nice of Rodimus. But he didn't much care about Rodimus or anything that he may have caused, no, Drift was more upset at himself. He dragged the blade down his arm again. 

He didn't care! The one thing he cared about was missing in his life, the one mecha that he probably won't ever see again. Not while he's alive.

It's not like he'd want Ratchet to see him like this. He be chastised and cleaned up and forced to give his blades over to Ratchet, but right now, he'd give just about anything to have that. Even just to see Ratchet's face would be something that he wouldn't know how to repay. He missed him so dearly. His blade made a particularly deep contusion in his protoform, a fresh wave of tears.

He felt useless! And all those times that he would fall back onto religion, they all were red-tinted memories now. All lead back to Ratchet. 

The Energon stained arms and legs stung with each new mark. They were nothing more than reminders. They were reminders that he needed Ratchet, how he missed him, how he could have done something and how he failed everyone. Oh he hated what he'd become! Though he came so far from being the mech he was before, from being Deadlock, he still was just a monster. 

That's all he saw himself as. A monster, who hid amongst the winners of war, most of them. But even those times left him.

He choked out a sob, his screams caught in his throat. Drift couldn't even scream properly, it all came out as a pained binary wail. 

He didn't matter. What he felt didn't matter. And yet, a part of him wanted to go back. Most of him though, was afraid to see what had become of his friend.

Oh! That one word tore him apart, just as much as that cursed blade. Another long line of Energon torn along his arm. He wasn't anything but a friend. And even now, he most likely would only be a memory; especially if he managed bleed away his pain. He wanted to do something of that friend, make something special. But now, it was too late to even try.

The hopelessness deeply coded in his mind, gripped him. 

The lost of Energon hardly registered to him. His mind stun, uncontrolled. Drift's body, not unlike his mind, was torn apart, leaving him. He collapsed into his own river of Energon, doomed to die a million more deaths.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm doing better and thank you to those that sent me Internet hugs! Y'all are very sweet!
> 
> Boop

"Ratchet, state your location," the red captain growled over the commutation channel. Ratchet had half a mind to ignore the call and keep his small pod-ship on course, but he did think better of it. "I'm not coming back," his voice was hoarse as if he'd been yelling. To that, it was true.

He'd been so upset, no, upset isn't a strong enough to describe what he felt. He couldn't even describe the betrayal that he felt. After being – vaguely – told Drift was sent off the ship by Rodimus, he frelling outraged! What's worse is that Rodimus wasn't the one to tell him, it was Magnus.

"You can't be serious! You're our medic!" Rodimus shrieked, sounding much like a child. Ratchet's engines gave an angry turnover. "I am, Captain. Thank you for your opinion," he spit at captain. He wasn't a captain he wanted to follow, not there and not now.

Rodimus stood silently at the remark a moment, it caught him off guard for some reason. "Ratchet."

With a gravelly voice Ratchet added, "First Aid is well equipped and knows what to do." He pushed up on the throttle, all the less time he'd have to spend in space and away from Drift.

He heard Rodimus sigh, "You're not going to forgive me, are you?" It was a small, hopeful sounding question. It actually made Ratchet laugh, one of pity. No true humor. "Not a chance." He hung up without another word.

Ratchet continued his way through the emptiness of space. His thoughts al aye travelled from piloting to Drift and how genuinely worried he was. Was he talking care of himself? How was he coping mentally?

Ratchet was not Rung but they could follow the same though pattern for a time, right now, hell, he could use some of Rung's council. 

But how was Drift coping? Now he wasn't sure what terrified him more, Drift being alone and having no other method than religion to fall back on or renouncing it all together. He didn't want to think about what kind of state Drift was in spiritually, mentally, physically. 

The last part froze the medic. Drift was never one to go to medbay even when he needed it. Ratchet would have to track him down on a normal day. And now, what would that mean do him? What shape would he be in? 

Is he still alive?

No, shut up head! He has to be alive! He couldn't have died being only a week away from being on the Lost Light. That almost gave Ratchet some hope, almost.

The ship came to its seeked planet. A small, green planet, not unlike earth but certainly smaller comparatively speaking. The plasma that was his spark burned with trepidation and a small pulse of hope. A hope to see his white mech. 

A nervous shake was in his digits as he punched at the controls, lowering the speed, putting up the heat shields. He was all the more close to Drift. But where is he?

He couldn't think about that now; he'd find him. Right now, he'd have to watch where he'd be landing. Crashing is the last thing he needs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, yup. I think now I'm just trying my hand at a little horror..?  
> It's short but so is our time

Drift didn't wake up. Well, he woke up however it was with an ache in his limbs and warm digits carefully touching his frame. What? Last he checked he was alone and basically left to die. He left himself to die. 

He didn't open his optics, he couldn’t. He allowed himself to imagine that it was Ratchet touching—holding him there in a comfortable embrace. A light voice, barely enough to be considered sound, he was incapable of understanding what could have been said. For all he knew, it was all in his head; a fleeting dream doomed to be awoken from. And be damned to be alone. Again.

He felt something cold against his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to wince, whatever burned had got in his self-induced wounds, was rubbed in. That got him. Somethin—this time on his face—dripping, trailing down to his neck. That's what got him. He wasn't alone. Wearily he tried to open his optics, failing.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the voice creaked, hoarse. "I should have known he'd send you away. Why was I so stupid?" A thumb, so thought Drift, stroked his face, collecting tears. Not his own. "I'm never going back; especially if I lose you," he sniffled, pulling Drift's head to rest over his spark. "Not again."

Drift tried again, willing his optics to open. There was the smallest pulse of happiness seeing Ratchet. But was this all in his head? He didn't dare wish it to be. It would only hurt more to have his mind lie to him, and in such detail! 

He groaned near silently as he moved his arm, whatever was spread in the cuts felt like it was burning. Ratchet gasped, realization hitting like a train as he caught sight of the slightest of motions from Drift. He couldn’t open his optics any further, everything was burning. His tormented limps, his spiraling mind, the harsh burn of his optic fluid then pouring from them in a silent sob. 

A weak, trembling peep escaped Ratchet. Drift could barely hear him. He could only see the slow haze of his lips moving, or the sudden scalding brightness to his optics. His chassis was too tight, like being pressed, or his vents were closed with his past Energon. Before he had the chance to speak, his optics grew heavy again. He knew he was dying. He only hated Ratchet had to watch.


End file.
